


Don't Wanna Live My Life Again

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Graphic Description, Immortality, M/M, Mild Gore, Temporary Character Death, alt title: im goth and gay what do you expect, bc im me, btw this is romox not ambreigns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: The first time Mox dies, he isn't exactly surprised.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Don't Wanna Live My Life Again

The first time Mox dies, he isn’t exactly surprised.

It’s the summer of 1957, and he’s at a party someone threw based around… something. Anything could be a party these days; the world almost ended twice in as many decades, so people celebrate any moment it doesn’t. Parties were a necessary evil, and even though Mox’s never been much for parties, he goes anyway.

He couldn’t tell you who was throwing this party, or why, and that was before the alcohol. All he knows is he starts the night with a split lip and he’s alternating between pressing a cold bottle of vodka against it and taking swigs from the bottle. The booze doesn’t do much the dull the sharp pain, and quite honestly, he doesn’t want it to. He likes the pain, likes the blood, likes the violence. It’s the only thing that makes him feel alive these days.

Within the hour, he’s got a black eye.

The kid who swings at him is just that- a kid. His hair is peroxide blonde, damn near white, but there are pink splotches that tell a tale of bloodshed. Blue eyes stare up at him angrily, past long lashes and a brow heavy with rage. He’s half a foot shorter than Mox and thin as a stick, but he doesn’t seem to give a shit about his odds.

Mox expects an easy fight, which is his first mistake. His second is thinking he can fight fine with half a handle of vodka in his system, something that makes his limbs feel disconnected. He still goes through with it, though, because he’s never been able to say no to a good time and he has no concept of self-preservation.

It’s going about as well as a fight under these circumstances can up until he falls over the balcony.

One minute, he’s throwing sloppy rights and wondering how this kid is still standing under the weight of all the hits he’s taken, and the next he’s falling. He doesn’t panic because he doesn’t think he knows  _ how _ to panic. There’s a calmness that falls over him, something heavy and serene as the wind whips past fingertips that are reaching instinctively for a fingerhold that isn’t there. He can see the kid’s face, staring down over the balcony, painted across with horror and disbelief. 

Mox doesn’t have a whole lot of time to ponder anything before he’s hitting the ground.

Pain floods through him instantly, and it isn't the good kind. It isn't the sharp bite of glass, isn't the needle-stick of thumbtacks, isn't the heady rush of violence he gets off on. It's hard and sudden and knocks the wind out of him before he can think to brace for it. He can  _ feel  _ the way his ribs shatter in his chest, pressing like daggers against his organs. There's something unbearably painful in his torso, somewhere between his kidneys and liver. He can't really catalog anything else before his head smacks the pavement with a sickening  _ crack  _ and everything goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm vampiremox on Tumblr! Come bug me!  
> Title credit to Pet Sematary by The Graveyard Ghoulies


End file.
